I think like a genius, I write like a distinguished author, and I speak like a child.
— Vladimir Nabokov (via readingfromthetrees)
The autumn trees gleam in the yellow moonlight, in the light of harvest moons, the light which mellows the energy of labour, and smooths the stubble, and brings the wave lapping blue to the shore.
— Virginia Woolf, To the Lighthouse (via mirroir)
She’s like smoke: you think you’re seeing her clearly enough, but when you reach for her, there’s nothing there.
— Ryū Murakami (via heavydrug)
